


five years you weren't there

by RionaHGoch



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Father-Son Relationship, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark Friendship, James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, Natasha Romanov Has Issues, Nebula & Tony Stark Friendship, Nebula is a Good Bro (Marvel), Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Not Beta Read, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Thor (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Wakanda (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 12:00:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24849412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RionaHGoch/pseuds/RionaHGoch
Summary: They had lost.When half of the life across the universe was snapped out of existence, Peter Parker was one of the lucky half left behind. Or maybe, the unlucky half.What is a hero supposed to do, when all efforts to save the world have failed?Alternate Universe in which the people that survived the snap were slightly different, and how the Avengers left behind dealt with the results of Thanos’s actions. Also known as the five years we weren’t there.
Relationships: Bruce Banner/Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	1. when it’s all over

**Author's Note:**

> So, this idea first came to me after reading several (wonderful) stories about a Dad/Son Dynamic between Tony and Peter. In most of them, May dies and everything. I wanted to use a canonical way for May to die and everything. Therefore, the change was that Peter survived the Snap.
> 
> But then I wanted to write the story from different perspectives because I love to use any opportunity to write something angsty so this was born.
> 
> The idea is kinda to follow canon mostly. With some differences.

**May 31, 2018, Earth-616 Timeline  
** **Planet Titan, Ouranos Star System, Milky Way Galaxy**

Dust. Their bodies were turning into dust. It was not very different from the remainders of fire: the ashes vanished into the air, not leaving even a speck of matter behind. How was that even possible? It was random, it was simple. But so terrifying. 

First, the alien lady - Mantis was her name? - and second, the blue big guy. Then, Mr. Starlord. 

_We failed. We really failed,_ that was the first comprehensive thought that crossed Peter’s mind. _What did we do?_ His second thought was a bit more simple, once the consequences of their failure registered into his mind. He couldn’t see Mr. Stark anywhere. He had gone to talk to Mr. Strange. _No. He couldn’t be gone too._

“Kid! Where are you kid?” A voice he knew quite well shouted, and he nearly cried in relief. Well, nearly was an optimistic view of it. Peter could fell something warm trailing down his cheeks, it took him a moment to identify those as tears. 

“Mr. Stark!” His leg hurt quite a bit, but Peter managed to walk the few steps that separated them. Mr. Stark was quite battered. “Are you alright, sir?”

The man hugged him. Iron Man was hugging him and Peter couldn’t muster an ounce of enthusiasm about it, because everything else was falling apart. 

“He did it.” The other woman, the cyborg lady said, behind them. 

_He killed half of the universe._ The implication was evident in her words. _May. Ned. MJ. Happy. Ms. Potts. The Avengers. The whole world. Were they alive?_

Peter had no idea whatsoever. He couldn’t think about anything: the facts, the probabilities were offered by his brain in a silver platter, popping up everywhere in his mind, and yet it was impossible to assimilate one tiny piece of information. His brain was also eager to provide scenarios in which none of it had happened. Maybe this was just a nightmare, a bad dream, and he only had to wake up in order to solve everything. Perhaps his instincts were playing tricks on him: if he was on the space, he could be oxygen-deprived: maybe he had imagined the other people and nothing had happened at all. Or he could be dead. Who could tell what afterlife was like? Maybe it was like this, a desolate planet in which every hellish thing could happen. 

Certainly, being dead would be preferable to living in a world where Thanos had won. 

They sat on the ground for a long time, his over-active mind coming up with different scenarios to explain everything, in the same second that his spider-sense provided that the information that the worst scenario was the true one. Peter had no idea how long they stayed there, nor if anyone had spoken anything. He didn’t think so. Mr. Stark had put his arm around his shoulders, but he seemed just as shocked as Peter. 

Mr. Strange had also vanished. It had taken Peter awhile to notice but when he did, it felt weird. If there was someone that could explain what had happened, where they had failed, that person would be Mr. Strange. 

“We failed.” His voice sounded hoarse. Ah, the crying. Peter had almost forgotten he had been crying. “What are we gonna do?”

Peter wanted Mr. Stark to have a plan. In some part of his mind, he had imagined the scene in which Iron Man squeezed his shoulders with a smile and said something like _‘We are going to save the world’_. He wanted the man to have an answer, even though the rational part of his mind provided what he already knew. That had been their last effort. There was nothing else to be done now. They had failed, plain and simple, and nothing could bring the dead back to life. Nothing could bring his parents back, nor nothing had brought Uncle Ben back. Sometimes, things just happened and you were at fault for allowing them to happen. 

“I don’t know, kid.” The man sighed. Peter felt guilty at that moment. He knew that Mr. Stark didn’t have the answer, so why was he hurting the man with that question?

It was only then that Peter noticed that Mr. Stark was more than battle-worn. He was wounded in the chest, most likely stabbed by something very big. “Mr. Stark, you are hurt! We need to take care of it.”

The billionaire didn’t seem to understand the words, and Peter wasn’t sure if that was because of their loss or it was blood-loss. Which one was better? Peter shared one look with the blue cyborg lady. They had to get him to a doctor. Where did someone find a doctor in space?

“Ms.–?” He called.

“Nebula.” She said, quietly.

“Right, Ms. Nebula. I’m Peter, nice to meet you. This is Mr. Stark.” He introduced them because that was the polite thing to do. Even though there was nothing nice about their situation. “Ms. Nebula. Did you come by spaceship, too? Ours got destroyed. Could you give us a ride, ma’am?”

Mr. Stark chuckled at his side, humorlessly.

“Mine is destroyed.” She answered. Ah right, she had crashed a spaceship onto Thanos. “We can take the _Benatar._ ”

They walked through the old piles of rubble and scorched ground – the destroyed planet was a good portrayal of their moods and inner states. The spaceship was probably one of the coolest things Peter had ever seen, but he didn’t find any joy in that. It’d fit just right in a Star Wars movie, though right it looked as if it had barely survived the Battle of Endor. The ship was quite damaged. 

With Ms. Nebula’s help, Peter maneuvered Mr. Stark into the ship, which didn’t look much better than it was outside. Under the artificial light of the spaceship, some sense of hope sneaked upon Peter’s chest. Mr. Stark wasn’t bleeding that much, and he was conscious. Those were good signs, weren’t they? Peter certainly remembered one time when his teachers spoke how important was to keep someone conscious. 

“Mr. Stark? You are going to be alright, sir. We have to get home.” He said, as Ms. Nebula ran a scan over his wounds. 

“Pete, you’re ok.” The man breathed as his hand reached for Peter’s shoulder, a strong grip. “Help me out of the suit, kiddo. It’s prickly.”

“Not yet.” Ms. Nebula interrupted as soon as Peter reached for one of the shattered iron members. 

“Blue-meanie, I really need to get out of the suit.” Mr. Stark declared.

“One piece is lodged. Once we remove it, you’ll bleed. I’ll have to cauterize it. Unless you want to die.”

Peter looked between the two. It seemed reasonable, but really it wasn’t his place to say anything about that. Mr. Stark stared the woman for awhile, as if he was deciding whether to trust her. Finally, the man acquiesced. “Fine.”

Ms. Nebula had a knife on her hand in the next moment, and Peter quickly reached to stop her arm from falling into Mr. Stark’s chest. “Are you crazy?” Peter shouted.

“I can’t reach the bleeding now. I have to open the wound.” The cyborg explained. What? She wanted to stab Mr. Stark more in the chest, with that knife that didn’t seem very medical equipped? It definitely wasn’t a scalpel.

“Hey’ya, ma’am. You know, where's the first aid kit?” Peter spoke up. The woman shrugged, and if Peter had to bet that should mean that there wasn’t any first aid kit. “Anything to take away the pain?”

“Kid. Let her do it.” Mr. Stark spoke, his eyes roaming around the damaged interior of the ship. The alien just stared at them, as if they were just as strange as she seemed to them. Her eyes were very black. It was unnerving. When she conceded, her hand pointed in the direction of the cockpit, or at least, what looked like a cockpit. Peter wasn’t overly familiar with the interior of real-life spaceships. 

“One of the morons must keep booze hidden somewhere in there. Take a look.” Peter run into the direction. The place was a mess. A mess that stank like feet and burnt circuits. It was almost comforting after everything that had happened that day. He knelt over the controls, looking for anywhere where someone might keep a hidden stack of bottles. Somewhere in his mind Aunt May’s voice sounded, warning against drinking and driving. Did that also apply to spaceships?

A shout sounded into his ears and Peter was jumping onto Nebula before his spider-strengthened eyes could process the image of the woman with her hand inside Mr. Stark’s chest. She wasn’t very affected by it, though, her free hand grabbing his arm. Peter wasn’t sure if it was the fact her hand was inside Mr. Stark’s chest or that Mr. Stark had reached for his hand that made him stop fighting her. “Peter. It’s ok.” He said.

Nebula just took some seconds more to cauterize the wound. Then, she walked away as if she had done nothing wrong. Peter watched her warily for a moment, before redirecting his attention onto Mr. Stark. He was...better. No longer struggling to catch his breath, a bit of colour returning to his cheeks. “Peter, can you hear me?” The man said after the boy helped him to sit up, his hand reaching for the boy’s shoulder once again. 

Mr. Stark must have felt how tense Peter was, because his next words were of assurance. “Kid, it’s alright. I don’t think I’d have lasted a lot if she hadn’t done that. That can’t happen. I still have to get you home, right?”

_We failed._

“Do we still have a home to get?” Peter asked.

* * *

**May 31, 2018, Earth-616 Timeline**

**Birnin Zana, Kingdom of Wakanda, Planet Earth, Solar System, Milky Way**

Natasha had never thought it would come to this. She had all her life to grow used to the idea that civilizations ended and regimes fell, and yet their defeat had surprised her just as much as it had any other. Maybe more, because if they weren’t enough – gods from the mythology, ancient warriors from ultra-modern hidden societies, an all-powerful witch, an android which was the manifestation of the latest developments of technology, a hulk, and enhanced super-soldiers from the past – then, what else could be done? What else could she do?

Natasha had thought that Red Room was the last place she’d feel impotence in her life. She had conquered her helplessness and discarded it as trash a long-time ago. Nevertheless, it had returned now, as she stood in the room that housed the Taifa Ngao, inside the Royal Palace of Wakanda.

Her education and career had only afforded her the bare minimum understanding of the Wakandan language, therefore the few words she was able to understand from the discussion between the tribal elders were not enough to give a comprehensive input on their opinions. Nonetheless, the subject of their discussion was easily deduced. Both the king and his immediate successor had vanished, and they needed someone to represent them in the aftermath. In her years as a spy, she had witness countless meetings not unlike that one but never she had felt such sombreness watching such proceedings. 

In the middle of the elders (though one of them wasn’t as elderly as the others, a successor himself to the one that had been taken by Thanos), stood the dowager queen, a mother that had lost both her son and her daughter on the same day. It was disconcerting for Natasha to know so little about these people, but the Wakandans had been an exemplar in keeping secrets. As it was, she only knew the names and the roles of Queen Ramonda and Okoye in the scene, and that was because they had introduced themselves. 

Steve sighed by her side, and she knew he felt just as wrecked as she. She didn’t feel capable of dealing with any of these today. As dust settled in the skyline it felt completely surreal than less than twenty-four before she’d been in Edinburgh and her biggest worry was keeping the star-crossed teenagers alive. What a good job she had done: Wanda and Vis were both dead now. And half of the world had gone with them.

As Okoye spoke to the elders, Steve got a message in his fossilized version of a cellphone. “The Quinjet is ready.” He whispered into her ear. “The others are waiting on the platform.” Normally then, her brain would start to work again, processing information and moving to build action. Her life had been about rewiring her instincts to act and react to every kind of stimulation. And yet, now even a nod had consciously called forward in response. Natasha was unable to react, and that was terrifying. 

“All the others?” She asked, because when she had taken the ride to the city, some of them didn’t seem ready to even get up. To face the facts. Natasha was surprised they had mustered the energy.

“Well, no.” Steve fussed. “I don’t know if I can pick up the god of thunder but I guess I’ll have to try.”

“Maybe if we understood the consequences of today like him we’d be like that too.” At least, that was how she felt. After all those years of fantastic mumbo jumbo the idea that the infinity stones existed still baffled her. Natasha had been born an atheist and raised as a cynicist, yet her adult life had somewhat become centered around mythological beings, extraterrestrial creatures and magic stones. It was a mockery of the usual way, as she got older she started to believe more in fairytales.

Okoye came into their direction, probably noticing that their departure was imminent. The General of the Dora Milaje seemed fine at first glance, but Natasha saw that the woman was just as tired, just as stunned as the rest of them. They were all baffled with their loss, going through motions as if they somewhat mattered. “The elders are favoring a joint ruling of Queen Ramonda and Prince S’Yan for the time being.” The woman explained in a whispered manner. “I’ll be the liaison for the Avengers.”

“We are going back to the compound.” Natasha was slightly surprised by the words that seemed to come out of her mouth. “Measure today’s damage. Find Thanos.”

“We must bring them back.” Steve agreed by her side. Was it possible? Perhaps. Natasha wasn’t so sure anymore. All she wished was to go back to the time she was sure of anything. 

Wakanda was a beautiful country, and the capital, Birnin Zana, was a magnificent place even after the battle. Some part of her brain registered that, though most of it was focused on getting to the platform where the Quinjet awaited them. Bruce, Rhodey and the talking raccoon made a strange picture, but a picture nonetheless. Bruce, it was good to see Bruce. At least that day had brought him back to them: when he first disappeared three years before she had thought he was laying low. But he never came back and she began to wonder if he could be dead.

“I couldn’t reach Fury. I think he is out, too.” Rhodey spoke as they approached him.

A familiar ring sounded in her ears and Natasha took her phone out to check who could possibly be calling her at this time. _Old Guy._ Clint. He had no idea. No.

«Nat, are you there? I need your help. I can’t find Laura and the kids. » His voice was frantic, his nerves falling apart. «I don’t know where they are, Tasha! I looked everywhere. I think Duquesne took them. Or Taskmaster. I don’t even know. I need your help, Nat.»

She wanted to say something. Something reassuring, something that would make things ok. Not Laura. Cooper. Lilla. Nate. They couldn’t be gone. That’d destroy Clint.

Natasha pushed the phone away, just for a moment. Just so she could catch her breath and make her voice even, make her lie convincing. “I know where they are. Let’s meet at the compound.”

«Are they alright? They have to be fine.» 

“Yes, Clint. They’re okay.”

They’d be, she swore. Now, they had to pick up a catatonic God of Thunder from the battlefield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? Tell me about it!
> 
> I have just one question that I want to ask my readers. Do you want MJ to be alive? I am really in doubt about it, so I want to hear your input.


	2. the stars between us

**June 10, 2018, Earth-616 Timeline**

**Somewhere in the Space, Milky Way Galaxy**

When Tony was a child, he watched the recordings of Neil Armstrong’s moonwalk with wonder many times. He had been proud to be born in a world in which humans had conquered even space: for years, he had boasted about his father’s hand on the whole project. At the young age of eight, Tony had promised himself he would, one day, walk among the stars. Sixteen years ago, when Elon had first approached him, Tony had embraced the idea of commercial flights to Mars with the same passion he dedicated for few of his other projects. At the time, Mars seemed very far: a great goal to achieve for his lifetime. He never dreamt of being out of the Solar System, nearly three thousand light-years away from it. And even then, he couldn’t convince himself to enjoy the view. He had tried: on their second day out of Titan, Tony had sat down with the kid and together at their makeshift observatory room they had watched the universe around them with childlike wonder for...nearly forty minutes. 

The thing about space-travel at eighteen parsec a day (matter travelling faster than light, _that_ was fascinating) is that you are not really supposed to go too close to any of the celestial bodies: their gravitational pull could slow days out of a trip. So, most of the time they only saw a starry night or complete darkness, and not even a constellation they could try to name. They wouldn’t know the names of the constellations and the planet around them anyway. Tony supposed Nebula could have that information, but the blue-meanie wasn’t very verbal. 

The first days were hard. The days following those were even harder. There was something about the impending doom of their existence that took their minds out of the half of the universe’s death. The _Benatar_ had been heavily damaged during the battle. They had lost one of the fuel cells before they had even managed to take off, two in the next five days, and the other two were quite worn out, therefore their speed travel was drastically reduced to a third of the capacity. By his account, the journey to Earth would usually take a fortnight but now they would be lucky if they made it in three months. Well, lucky was a stretch. They’d be dead anyway. The food supplies wouldn’t last them for a month more, even if they rationed. They had spent the last two days trying to establish connection with another spaceship, and trying to find a hospitable planet to land and resupply. Nothing had appeared on their radar, so far.

Tony hadn’t been able to sleep. He knew he had to get the kid home. He had failed at everything this time but that tiny miracle he had to pull off. Tony couldn’t have lived in a reality in which the best kid in the world, the most good-natured person he ever met, was rewarded for his loyalty and his desire to help with a death by starvation in space after half of the universe was wiped out. There should be a reason for him to have survived while others died.

“Mr. Stark.” His voice called out, but even then Tony couldn’t look away from the holographic blueprints of the spaceship. Despite everything, those were fascinating. The design of the whole vehicle was indeed _otherworldly_ (pun intended). The blueprints were probably the most precious thing in the whole spacecraft, the two of them had long concluded. The spaceship was the proof and the method to make a photon rocket possible. “How long has it been since you slept?”

Tony had to look at the kid, now. His tone was worried, motherly. Ha, who would have thought that one day the kid would be the concerned adult of the two? Peter looked.. _well_ probably. His spider-powers seemed to deal fine with less nutrition and his injuries had been all minor – they had healed in the first three days. But now he was worried about Tony. And Tony couldn’t find within himself to lie to him, so he chose avoidance. “I can’t sleep, kid. I was looking at the diagrams of the fuel cells. I still haven’t managed to find a way to reverse the ion charge with what we have nor to repair the ones we lost, but I think we can improve the efficiency of the ones that are still working to 98.64%. Look.”

Tony brought up the diagram he had created some hours ago, which could be made out of the wreckage of the left wing of the spaceship. It was novel, he reckoned, but doable. By his calculations, it could buy them a hundred and fifteen hours of travel. That was how the last days have gone. Everyday, they would try to repair the spaceship to the best of their abilities, to gain meager hours of flight, while Nebula scoured the universe around them for some kind of help while piloting. 

Peter didn’t dismiss the blueprints like most of the people that carried about Tony would have. He knew that it was more important than Tony’s momentary health. Peter was also a curious and science-loving teenager so it wasn’t in his nature. Instead, he took a look with his critical eyes, which understood quite well the model Tony had proposed. The few points he didn’t understand, he asked Tony to clarify and he even added some suggestions of his own to make it more adapted. 

In the end, Peter said. “Let’s do it, then. But after, we take the whole day off. Aunt May always said it’s much easier to find solutions to a problem with a well-rested brain.”

Tony had to concede to that, at least.

* * *

**June 14, 2018, Earth-616 Timeline**

**Somewhere in the Space, Milky Way Galaxy**

Nebula didn’t have any memories of her biological parents – Thanos had wiped those out from her head many years ago – nonetheless, she’d like to think they could have been like her two human companions. As they walked out of the engine room and into the lounge, she wondered if her parents ever looked at her like that. Those two were not laughing nor smiling, but the way the older one had his right arm around the younger one’s shoulder told her Stark would do anything to make the kid happy, safe. In exchange, the way Parker looked at the man told her the adult could do anything in the world, and the teenager would still be by his side. They were just good to each other, after everything that happened.

Nebula had longed for that kind of relationship all her life, but some part of her knew she wasn’t meant to live that kind of existence. The closer she ever was to find someone that would do anything for her was with Gamora. Her stubborn and moral sister that had protected her just as many times as she had tried to kill her. Nebula had once thought she would stand by her father’s side whatever he did but she was quickly dissuaded from that notion when faced with the choice of abandoning him. When Ronan stole the Power Stone, Nebula noticed that she felt nothing at the prospect of betraying someone like Thanos, who would never recognise her efforts, but a deep regret of not doing it sooner. 

She knew most beings weren’t like that. There was something broken inside her: a conscience, perhaps. Conscience, what a strange word. Nebula never understood what that was supposed to symbolize. Where in the body could someone find this so-called conscience, touch it? What the hell was someone supposed to do with it? She would like to think that there was some sort of goodness in her once, but she also knew that most of it had been curbed away by a lifetime of destruction and pain. Nebula didn’t think she could heal, and she didn’t want to either. To do it would be to deny her past, her actions. And what was left behind? A lonely existence that had accomplished nothing. No, that was not the way. 

So, when Stark and Parker came down from their cabins once again, she watched them from the cockpit. They were sad and angry, one feeling she knew quite well, another not so much. But they were also happy? To be alive, maybe. No, more like from being together. She knew they were somewhat interested in two things: the space and the spaceship. Stark also appeared to be interested in herself: he had asked countless questions about her implants. It was only fair, in that case, that she also interested herself in their behavior. 

They had been nice enough to her. People bond over shared trauma, it was a notion that years of torturing her prey taught her. She reckoned total failure and impending starvation were appropriate sources of trauma. But there was a broad difference between nicety and affection. And the only person that had ever held some kind of affection for her was dead, murdered by the only one they sought to make proud. 

“Hey, Ms. Nebula.” The teenager called. “Mr. Stark found some packs of popcorn and skittles. And something that kind looks like beer apparently? We can’t really read it.” 

“Blue-meanie, come join the party!” Stark shouted from his post in the lounge. “This is our chance to get hammered.” The man was slouched over the couch, having already started the party with a can in his hands. 

Nebula's first instinct was to refuse. Parker noticed that quickly, and jumped out of his seat, a sheepish smile on his face. She couldn’t really excuse herself by driving the spaceship, as they all knew there was an autopilot. Parker hesitated for a moment before approaching her. “Come, ma’am. Mr. Stark said we could watch a movie later!”

The teenager looked so hopeful, and Stark seemed so relaxed that her curiosity was stirred. How different such a thing would be from the few gatherings she had seen in her life? Did humans party differently? Or people that cared about each other?

She sat across Stark while Parker sat back again by his side. The crate was by her side, and she took out a can to offer to the boy. Parker stared at her hand as if she had never seen a hand before - and he found the hand the most offensive thing in the universe. What had she done wrong? Didn’t humans pass around drinks on Earth?

Stark barked out a laugh. “Oh dear...kid, you can’t drink yet! Maybe in some years.”

Was Stark truly prohibiting Parker from drinking because he wasn’t old enough? Humans were undoubtedly weird. She was somewhat aware that there were planets in which children weren’t allowed to drink. That had never happened to her, nobody had ever cared enough about her to forbid the consumption. 

Stark was so protective of Parker it was almost amusing. Iron-Human hadn’t been able to stop the spiderling from going to space, nor from fighting the most powerful being in the universe – and he wouldn’t be able to save the boy from their present situation either. And yet, he still sought to prevent the boy from what? Alcohol consumption? It wasn’t as if Parker would have time to become addicted to it. What was even weirder was that Parker always deferred to his authority, even though the young human was physically much stronger than the older one.

Stark appeared to have changed his mind, once he noticed the absurdity of their condition. He tossed the can he was drinking into the boy’s direction. “You know what? It’s time you learn how to drink. Fuck knows I wish Howard had taught me that.”

Parker took an hesitant look onto the drink in his hands before sipping it. What soon followed was a whole lot of gagging and grimacing, before the boy hushed out with a sick face, leaving the two of them alone. Nebula found the look at Stark’s face even more interesting. A bit of loss, an ounce of amusement, a little of patronisation. A pat on the boy’s back and a chuckle. Was that love? Affection? Why was his expression so agitated by the random name?

“What’s up, Smurfette?” She took a minute to understand Stark was talking to her. Nebula had no idea how to answer that. It felt too vulnerable, too friendly. 

“Who is Howard?” She asked, instead. The man seemed to freeze, and a suspicion squeezed into her mind. Stark hesitated for several minutes, shuffling a deck of cards on the table. “My father.” He answered, eventually.

“You don’t like him.”

“He died a long time ago. I reckon he wouldn’t have won the Father of the Year Award.”

That, she could sympathize with. “Thanos was the closest thing I had to a father.” Nebula dared to reveal, receiving a cold chortle for an answer.

“Well, congratulations. That’s a fast track ticket right to the Nutjob Award.” He raised his can, a gesture she wasn’t familiar with. “I propose a toast: to fucked up childhoods. You have to clink with me.”

It took a few attempts for Stark to be satisfied, but eventually they were done. As she watched his gaze wandering to the door where Parker had escaped through, she chose to add: “You are doing a good job with your son.”

“Who?”

“The spider.”

Was that red in the human’s cheeks? Nebula always found amusing how easily humans blushed. “Ah, he isn’t my son. His parents died years ago. He lives with his aunt.”

“You just take care of him?”

“Great care I took.” 

Nebula didn’t know what to answer. It was obvious the man cared a lot about the boy. The amount of care he bestowed on the other these past two weeks would have been enough for her to last a lifetime. But Stark didn’t seem ready to admit that. Or maybe he just regretted what would happen to them. Human emotions were complicated. Years of studying psychology in order to torment her targets hadn’t been enough to enlighten her on all its intricate nuances.

She hadn’t thought she would ever long that much to understand them.

* * *

**June 15, 2018, Earth-616 Timeline**

**Somewhere in the Space, Milky Way Galaxy**

When Peter returned to the lounge, one of the weirdest pictures he had seen in his life had assembled itself. Mr. Stark was on the edge of his seat, leaning over a deck of cards spread across the table, while trying to explain to a watchful Ms. Nebula, a game that resembled blackjack. 

“No, the idea is not just to say _hit_ until someone punches another.” He explained, somewhat aggravated. “You have to get as close as possible to twenty-one without going over. See, right now you have a poor upcard, so you shouldn’t go over twelve. Pete, do you play?” Mr. Stark said, as soon as he noticed him. Mr. Stark indicated a pile of skittles between them which, he guessed, were working as tokens. 

“Only if you allow counting, sir.” Peter quipped, and the old man snorted before wincing. Under Peter’s keen eye, Mr. Stark didn’t look that good: beads of sweat rolling down his temple even though his complexion had paled, not a hint of redness in his cheeks. He looked feverish. “Are you alright, Mr. Stark?”

“Yes. Just a bit hot. I’ll take a look at the thermostat.” Standing up was a bigger challenge than expected, as the man immediately sat down once again.

“I think it is my chest wound.” Mr. Stark admitted. “It didn’t look that good this morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, I never thought I would love to write Nebula but yeah, I did. Yeah, this is a bit more happy. I think right now they would be resorting to coping mechanisms, as they cannot really face reality (they don’t know what is it). Next chapter I think will be on Earth.
> 
> What did you think?


End file.
